


The Courage of Stars

by WendyAnnCarmany



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-11-16 07:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11249334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyAnnCarmany/pseuds/WendyAnnCarmany
Summary: Post season 12...The boys are grieving.  They get help from someone..unexpected.





	1. "Band of Brothers"

There was a thunderclap. One second ago, Sam was looking into the eyes of something he understood. Down to his core, he understood. It was evil. One second it was there and the next, it wasn't. In a flash of otherworldly light, the nephilim was gone. Disappeared to who knows where. And with it went the sickening sense of kinship he had with it. That sense of overpowering evil was replaced with an overwhelming loss and sadness that seemed to overtake the air inside the house. It wasn't evil, just...sad. It reminded Sam of the feeling he had when Amara's cloud of Darkness had him in its grip.

Maybe the nephilim went to the other side of that rift. Maybe his mom had bigger problems coming her way than just a pissed off archangel. They'd deal with that later. They would get mom back, he knew that. But, right now, he had bigger problems than the whereabouts of a superpowered child who may end the world.

Right now, there were things that had to be dealt with. Kelly was dead. And Cas...well...This was a salt and burn now, nothing else.

He wanted to leave but he just couldn't. Not when his big brother needed him. Not again. The salt was out in the car. He could do this, and after Kelly was taken care of, whatever Dean needed, however Dean needed him, he would be there.

Sam quietly left the house to get the things he needed. He dreaded it, because he didn't want to see what was left, of Castiel or his brother.

As he slowly made his way to the Impala, Sam was glad he'd had that second set of keys made, back when Dean was in Purgatory and he wasn't looking, because he was not about to ask Dean for his keys. Sam kept his head down, but kept his brother in eyeshot.

Dean was still where he'd left him, on his knees and slightly swaying over Castiel's still form. Sam barely took notice, but, in all that had happened, it had started to rain, and it rained hard. His clothes were soaked through by the time he'd opened the trunk and fished out the salt, a book of matches, lighter fluid and two tarps. One for Kelly, and one for Castiel.

Sam took the things he needed, and as he put his keys back into his pocket, his fingers brushed against a familiar shape. The amulet. The thing that gave him hope, even after Dean had given up, and, as he closed his eyes and turned to go back into the house to go to work, he sent up a silent prayer.  
_  
Chuck. God, please. Just one more time. Dean needs this. Please. Save him just one more time. I'm begging you._

Sam salted the floors, doorways, and windows of the little house. And, as he went back into the room Kelly had wanted to use as a nursery, and looked at the brightly colored tree with Jack's name painted above it, his throat tightened a little with grief.

Castiel had tried. But now, all that meant was sadness.

He wrapped Kelly up, as gently as he could, in her tarp, and salted. He turned to leave. Sam took the matches and the unused tarp downstairs with him. He put the tarp on the small brown sofa beside the door, and left the matches and the can of lighter fluid, on the table next to the sofa, right next to the lamp. It was almost done.

Now he had to turn from the little oasis Cas had made, and go out to face Dean's, and his, Hell.

He went back to the spot where Dean was, and hovered for what seemed like hours, but still, Dean hadn't moved. The rain was lashing so hard that it bit into Sam's skin and pelted his eyes. It hurt. It must be hurting Dean too. So, Sam watched and he waited.

And waited.

Dean hadn't moved, and it was starting to scare him, “Dean?” Sam whispered, trying to break through the wall of grief and shock that separated him from his brother, “I salted the house. Kelly's inside so, we just need to,” Sam hated the tightness in his throat. Dean needed him right now. He could do this, “take care of Castiel before we go.”

“How?” Dean asked, and the sound nearly knocked Sam to his knees, right beside his brother. That was how he imagined Dean sounded on those nights he couldn't sleep, knowing Dean was in Hell. Broken and anguished and screaming for his help.

“I don't know,” Sam choked, “We could take him back into the house. I could wrap him up, and salt him before we go. He deserves that, at least. Then we could...”

Dean flinched, and his voice ground out, “And then what, Sammy? Burn him?” There was a hitching gulp of air, “No. I never told you...No, Sam.”

“Then what Dean? What?”

“I don't know, Sam!” there was a controlled rage in his tone, low and dangerous. The kind of tone Sam had heard before. The one Dean used to strike fear into the heart of demons, “I just...I thought there would be more, you know?”

Sam went to his knees now, and studied the form lying next to them. He looked just like...nothing. So small now that it seemed as if nothing as powerful as an angel could ever have fit inside.

This wasn't Jimmy Novak. But, it wasn't Castiel, either. What was this thing?

“More what, Dean?” Sam asked.

“More noise, Sam. I mean...an angel, and now...He rescued me, you know?” Dean sobbed, “From the pit. He got right down in the pit, with me, and pulled my ass out of the fire. I fought him, every step of the way, Sammy. I kicked and bit and clawed because I thought that I'd be breaking my deal, Sam, and still he held on. He tried to pull me up,” Dean closed his eyes, and Sam could see a slight smile on his face, but the tears were still falling, “and I nearly pulled his wings right off his shoulders. They were huge, Sam! And the colors! Colors like you've never seen, at least not here. We barrel rolled right down to the pit. I dragged him down so far that his wings caught fire, Sammy!” Dean gritted his teeth and hissed, “And he still wouldn't let me go. He just wouldn't drop me, the stupid...!” Dean took a heaving breath and sighed, “An angel of the Lord, with burnt wings, because of me! And now, there's nothing, Sammy. It's all just...empty.”

“I know, Dean,” Sam swallowed his own grief and sent a thank you out to wherever Castiel was now, as he watched the rain batter the body that had housed Castiel for so long. Castiel would never know just how grateful Sam was for his brother, “But, we have to do something,” he looked at his brother. He still wasn't moving. He would make himself sick if he didn't get out of the weather soon. Add pneumonia on top of shock and it could lead to places Sam didn't want to think about, “We can't just leave him here. The sun will be up soon. It'll be morning,” Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder and felt him tense, “People will notice. Please let's just,” Sam sighed, “get him out of the way. Away from...”

“People should notice, Sam,” Dean was trembling with grief and cold that Sam knew he couldn't, or wouldn't, feel, and the tears broke through in his voice, “They should notice!”

“...People who wouldn't understand,” Sam finished, softly, “Dean, please. You have dry clothes in your duffel. I'll get it, and take it into the house. Then I'll come back and help you take Castiel inside. We can get him somewhere where he'll be safe.”

Dean finally took his eyes off the body, and looked at Sam with tears on his face, that were almost coming down as fast as the rain, “He's not safe, Sam. Where is that thing? The thing he had so much faith in, where is it?” Dean's cadence was picking up speed, Sam could tell hysteria was setting in. Dean's eyes couldn't land anywhere, take anything in. Shock wasn't far now, “It could use him, like Lucifer did! We have to do this right, Sam!”

“You're right, Dean. We do. The nephilim is gone, Dean. It disappeared almost in the same moment Cas...”

“Did you see it?” Dean asked.

“Only for a second. Dean, it's gone now. Please, let's just get inside, where you'll be safe. And then we can decide what to do.”

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean sobbed, “But, I'll carry him.”

“Okay, Dean. Let me put your things inside. I'll be right back. Don't try and stand until I get back.”

Dean nodded, again his eyes fell to the body on the ground.

Sam quickly retrieved both of the duffels from the trunk of the Impala, and put them in the small bathroom on the first floor of the little bayside home. He then returned to kneel next to his brother, “Ready?” he asked, watching as Dean slid shaking hands under Castiel's shoulders and his knees. Sam was ready to take most of Dean's body weight, to push him up, if he needed to, to help him carry Castiel.

“Yeah.”

Dean stumbled at first, gasping when he nearly dropped the body as he stood. Sam steadied him, and helped to relieve the weight by grasping Castiel by the shoulders, while Dean took hold of his feet. The head fell against Sam's arm in such an intimate way, as though Castiel trusted him to take care of him like he was family, that Sam had to look away.

“Careful, Sammy,” he heard Dean murmur, “Careful.”

Sam nodded, his eyes squarely focused on his brother. Together, they brought Castiel into the tiny house.

************************ __

_The wind whipped on outside while someone watched the goings on in that tiny cabin by the bay. Tears were falling, and the voice kept ringing in his head. The plea, coming from the last place, the last person, he would have expected._

_“I'll bring him back, just this once, because you asked. It's gonna take time though. Think they can wait?” Chuck smiled, “Boy, if they knew it was you, it would turn their whole world around. I gotta say, you surprised me,” he said to the being to his left._

_“Yeah, well...I was bored. I'm Fergus MacLeod. Did you expect anything else?”_


	2. "Land Of The Lost"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new Death in town, and he's willing to make a deal.

_The grace that made up the consciousness of Castiel was suddenly ripped away from everything that was familiar. Sam and Dean Winchester were gone, as was the house and the beach. Everything was gone. The mother and child he'd tried to protect, even the rift was gone._

_He was confused. Where had they gone? The angel tried to stretch his senses as far as he could. A multidemensional being of celestial intent should be able to find anyone, anywhere. But Castiel found no one, no thing. Anywhere._

_Not even his Father._

_He was alone with his failure._

_The angel Castiel groaned under the weight of his loss. The people, all of his Father's beautiful works of art, humanity, all gone. But why, what had happened? Surely the people he loved and tried to protect, weren't all gone? He prayed in the language of his brothers and his Father. The language he'd known since before that first fish crawled up out of the ocean and onto the sand, Enochian, “Brothers, please, help me? If you can hear me, Father? Help me. I am lost. I need help.”_  
****************************************************************************

Sam put his wet clothes in his duffel, and watched as Dean quietly finished wrapping Castiel's vessel in the tarp he'd pulled out of the trunk.

Dean looked tired and ashen, and Sam was reminded again of the ritual he himself had gone through the morning after Hellhounds had taken his brother away from him. Back then, he and Bobby had cleaned, wrapped, and salted the body, but Sam couldn't bring himself to do the rest, despite knowing what was better for him, and his brother's soul.

His brother was coming back.

Sam wasn't sure if Castiel had a soul or not, but that didn't matter right now.

Because he understood some of what Dean was going through, what he said next wasn't difficult, even if that meant a long and silent road back, “Dean, we don't have to leave him here. We can take him back to Kansas. Salt and burn the rest, and call the fire department from outside of town?”

Dean turned his face to look at Sam, tears still close, even after hours of grieving, “You'd do that, for...him?”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam choked down a sob that was stuck in his throat, “Yeah, I would.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Dean said, his shoulders slumping slightly as the adrenaline started to wane. His head was pounding. Dean knew that he had to help his friend, somehow, but he didn't know how, or what to do. He closed his eyes, and admitted, with a heavy sigh, “I don't know what to do. I am lost, Sam. I need help.”

Sam nodded as he slowly walked to the door, and parted the curtain that covered the small window, “It's stopped raining, Dean,” he said, wincing as he looked at the bright blue morning sky, that was so unusual for Washington. As he closed the drape, Sam caught the glint of a rainbow and remembered that the rainbow was supposed to symbolize a promise between man and God. A promise that God would never unleash His anger like that again. It was meant for floods, but to Sam it meant something else, something he was going to hold Chuck to, even if it was the last thing he ever did. _Chuck, I swear, if you don't help, if you don't stop hurting my brother, Lucifer will be the least of your worries._ “Dean,” Sam said, as he moved to the opposite end of the sofa, from Dean, to help his brother lift their friend, “if we leave quickly, no one will see us. Cas was pretty smart. This place is far enough out...”

Sam felt the weight he was carrying shift downward, falling gently back to the sofa. Sam followed his brother's lead, and placed the body back on the sofa.

“Sammy, don't,” Dean said.

The hurt in Dean's voice made Sam wish the earth would open up and swallow him whole. Right now. Sam looked at Dean's eyes and knew, for a fact, that he was the dumb little brother, “God, Dean,” he stammered, “I didn't mean,” Sam found himself slowly backing toward the door, “I'll just go and unlock the car,” his hand was on the doorknob. He had to get away. If looks could kill, Sam knew he'd be a burn on the floor right now.

“Back seat, Sammy,” Dean sounded as though he were talking from the bottom of a deep well, “Not the trunk.”

“Right,” Sam gulped, nodding quickly, “Dean, I would never...” he trailed off as he saw a moment of understanding and forgiveness soften the death glare Dean had pinned him with.

“I know, Sammy,” Dean whispered, hating himself for even thinking for a moment that his brother would throw an angel's vessel, this angel's vessel, away like it was so much trash. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, “It's just...It shouldn't but, this one...it feels different. Like a part of me is missing. This feels, so help me, God, it feels worse than Cold Oak, Sam. And, if Crowley were here, I'd make that deal in a second, no matter what it cost me.”

“Dean...”Sam started, wondering if Dean would notice that there were tears on his face. He could feel a steady stream of them. Sam wondered if Dean hadn't noticed because he was crying too.

Sam tried to comfort his brother. It was astonishing. Dean was finally opening up and telling him things that he'd pushed for years to know about his brother; to know how to help him, and now, it was like the flood gates had opened. _It must be the shock._ Sam knew he had to tread lightly, here. If he wanted to help his brother, the torrent of emotions could not ebb, no matter how much it might hurt to hear.

“No, Sam. You don't understand. After Charlie, Sam...I went off the rails.”

“I know, Dean. But, you...”

“No, Sam. I mean, really off. In ways that I can't tell you, now, and maybe won't ever tell you. If Cas hadn't been there, I...” Dean swallowed hard, and Sam could tell that Dean was fighting back some bad memories. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed, and Sam had to strain to hear it, “ I don't think I'm bouncing back from this, Sammy. Ever.”

Sam tried to keep the waver from his voice as he said, “I'm here, Dean,” his eyes fell gently on the shrouded form as it lay on the tiny sofa, “And, I know he would not blame you if you wanted to stop hunting,” Sam found himself smiling a little, “'Team Free Will' and all, but, I don't think he'd want you to give up,” he turned to open the door, saying over his shoulder, “I'll just be a minute. Then we'll take him home, and then we'll...I'll do whatever you need me to do for you,” Sam Winchester vowed as he softly shut the door.

As Sam made his way to the car, the phone in his pocket started to buzz, “Hello?” he answered, as he wiped his face with his free hand.

“Sam! Oh, thank God! I've been calling for hours. Dean's not picking up. Is he...? You weren't at the bunker and there's this giant hole in the side and bodies everywhere. I called Jody, and we're cleaning it up but, when we didn't find you...Sam, what's going on?”

Sam's heart jumped into his throat, “Claire, what are you doing at the bunker?”

“Don't ask me,” Claire said, “I just got this feeling and I...I just drove. Sam, are you okay?”

“No, Claire, I'm not. Something's happened. Castiel, he...”

“Oh,” Claire whimpered and then Sam heard her clear her throat, “Okay. Right,” Claire said, “Is Dean all right?”

“No,”Sam choked out, “No, Claire, he's not.”

“But, he's alive, right?”

“Yes,” Sam sighed, “Yeah, he is.”

“Good. How long until you get here?”

“A day, maybe,” Sam said, “It's slow going right now.”

“Don't worry, Sam,” Claire said, “I'll wait here for you.”  
****************************************************** __

_The prayers went on for hours, maybe longer. It was hard to keep track when all Castiel felt was the absence. As if he were taken from the world he'd protected in a sudden and violent way. Then, all at once, a familiar voice answered him, “ Hello, Castiel. I may not be who you were expecting but, I think we're stuck with each other, for a long time, or so I'm told. Shame really,” the voice tisked, “Thursday has never been your day has it?”_

_“You?” Castiel heard himself ask, “How?”_

_“Two very good questions,” came the answer, “And one word answers them both. That word is, 'Winchesters.'”_

_Castiel was still confused, but that did not matter, “ Where did they all go? What happened to Sam and Dean?”_

_“Nothing,” the voice answered, “They didn't go anywhere. Those lumps of flannel are safe, just where you left them. No, Castiel, it's you that's left.”_

_Castiel felt panic surge in him, “Then, this is The Empty? Billie, she...”_

_“No, Castiel, this isn't The Empty. And Billie, I wouldn't worry about her. She wasn't authorized to make any type of deal. She went rouge so, all her deals are null and void. Her department is under new leadership. The boss has been looking to fill the position for a few years now, so...”_

_“I don't understand.”_

_“The boss likes the Winchesters! He doesn't want them messed with! At least, not until they're somewhere in their eighties. Mess with that timeline, you tend to get burned,” Fergus smiled, “I should know.”_

_“Crowley, why are you helping me?”_

_“Well, Castiel, you see, that plan of mine, it didn't work out quite how I thought it would. Wrong side of the rift. But then again, neither will Luci's so...even when I lose, I win,” Fergus chuckled a little, “Helping the Winchesters got me a new position. There was an opening for a Horseman, so I took it.”_

_The pieces started to fall into place for Castiel, “The Horseman? So you're...?”_

_“Death, Castiel. You're dead. Whether you stay that way, that's up to you. The boss likes you, too. He tells me that, out of all of His angels, you're the only one that got it right. Followed His instructions to the letter. Loved humanity, and those bloody Winchesters, over everything else, even Him. And, he wants to reward you for that. So, you can stay here, your brothers are waiting, by the way, or we could arrange something else. Whatever you want, Castiel. Let's sit and talk, shall we?”_  
*********************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Castiel and Fergus to be recognized for the good they've done. So....


	3. "Tuesday Afternoon"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is having a hard time seeing where he fits in all of this. Does Crowley know something he may have forgotten?

Claire was unsure what to do. Sam and Dean had come back to the bunker, and they looked like fifteen miles of bad road. If they looked that bad, then the battle must have been Hell. She knew, in her head that Castiel was dead, nothing else could make Dean _that_ shade of bloodless. She knew it wasn't her dad. It wasn't James Novak, and hadn't been for a while, but that didn't mean her breath didn't catch in her throat when the body that _was_ her father was carried into an empty room, and Dean just locked the door behind him, while Sam went off to the library to do research on alternate realities.

Claire wanted to see Castiel, but he was behind a door now, out of reach. The person who could help her understand what happened was Sam. So, she followed him into the library.  
********************************************************** __

_Sam tore into the angel lore that the British Men of Letters left behind. He knew there was a huge hole in the wall. There was no missing it. It was just another example of what Dean would do to save his family._

_Dean always did what he could to save him, no matter what it cost him, no matter if it was right or wrong, he did it. Now, it was Sam's turn._

_He sat down at the table in the Map Room, ready to stay awake all night if it would bring his Mom back; bring Castiel back._

_He sat down to read when the words started swimming. Sam closed the book and breathed. He didn't know he'd been holding his breath since Washington. Days of watching his brother's face in the rearview mirror, just hoping he'd say anything, make one sound._

_Sam was afraid it would be months before he heard his brother's voice again. He put his face in his hands and started to cry._

_After what seemed like hours, Sam felt a hand on his shoulder, and he stiffened, hoping against hope that he would hear his brother's voice. It was irrational, the touch was too soft. Instead he heard Claire's voice, “Sam, tell me what happened.”_  
**************************************************

That was Monday. It was now Tuesday afternoon and Claire found herself standing outside the room Dean had barricaded himself in. She knocked quietly on the door again, “Dean, please. I understand all of that. I know my Dad's dead, but, Castiel was with my Dad, at the end. He tried to save Mom. And ever since Sam told me what happened, Dean, I've been remembering stuff, from when I was a kid. Stuff about you...”

“About me?” asked the low, rough growl on the other side of the door, “What about me?”

Claire smiled to herself as the memory of being Castiel's vessel came flooding back to her. It was a scary time, but she felt safe with him, and Dean, because Castiel had let her see what he saw when he looked at Dean. A man, who was weighed down by so much guilt and misplaced anger that it literally tore his soul to pieces. A soul that she watched Castiel mend himself, the only way he knew how, “Does it really matter, Dean? I just want to say goodbye. He deserves that much. Please, let me in.”

Claire stood on the other side of the door, and sent up a prayer, first to Castiel- _Thank you for protecting me, and my Mom, and Dean and Sam. Thank you for helping them. We miss you, so if there's any way you could, or if you want to...come visit sometime. I'd like that...He'd like that._ \- and then to her Dad- _Dad, tell him it's okay. Tell him I'm not mad, and that he did good. That he is good, and he's the most badass angel there is, no joke. Even if he doesn't see it._ \- before she heard the door open, “Come in,” Dean said.  
****************************************

_Suddenly there was green grass and blue sky. A man flying a kite, and a park bench. Castiel felt dizzy, “Crowley...Fergus,” Castiel growled, “Whatever your name is, what did you just do?”_

_“I just thought that you might want to be in a more comfortable place while we talk. Tuesday afternoon in 1953, wasn't it? Or, was it '54? I can't remember. Still, one Tuesday is just the same as another.”_

_Castiel picked himself up off of the ground, and noticed grass stains on his trenchcoat. He glared at Crowley, “This is impossible,” he said, “My grace is gone. There is no physical form. This shouldn't be...Where am I? You said this wasn't The Empty, but it's not...Where...What did you do?”_

_“Me? Nothing. Just following orders. The boss doesn't want you to be...stressed. So, it's familiar faces and places all around. You get your favorite vessel, and you see what you expect to see. I get to be Crowley, in the vessel I've had since you took Squirrel topside, and you get to be, well, you. Makes going through what we have to go through a little easier.”_

_“And, what is that?”_

_“Well, Castiel, Angel of the Sorrowful, Orphaned, and Downtrodden, you get to remember.”_

_Castiel squinted. Was this a trick? Was this some kind of punishment, to spend eternity with only Crowley to talk to? “Remember what?”_

_Crowley rolled his eyes, “What you did. Who you are.”_

_“I'm an angel. Not a very good one.”_

_Crowley grunted, “Yes. You're just an angel. Oh, please, and I was just a...how did he phrase it? Oh yes, 'A punk-ass crossroads demon.' You're more than that. Now I understand why you kept coming back...”_

_Castiel felt overwhelmed with sadness, and he honestly did not care what Crowley was saying, “Enough. I don't need to be told again, how much of a failure I am...or was.”_

_“A failure? Really? Is that what you think?” Crowley asked, as he sat down on the park bench and left room for the angel to sit next to him, “If I'm not mistaken, Castiel, your one, and only, job was to make sure the Micheal sword was prepared for battle. Last I checked, Dean Winchester was still up and kicking, even after his own, repeated efforts to the contrary.”_

_“Dean. How is he? And the baby...Is the child all right?” Castiel asked, as he took his seat next to Crowley._

_“Jack has been put into protective custody, for the time being, because Dean is out for blood. It's not pretty. Not to worry, though. He has his Moose, and Claire. He'll be fine. It's you I'm worried about.”_

_“Why do I find that hard to believe?”_

_Crowley shook his head, and turned to look at Castiel. Where he used to see purpose, and perhaps a little righteous anger, he now saw sadness and loss,“You really are the saddest...Look,” he said, his tone surprisingly affectionate, “I am not your enemy, at least not anymore. I want what you want, so does the boss. That's why I'm here.”_

_"And your boss is...God?”_

_“Yes,” Crowley said, “But, I have some say in where all souls go now, not just demonic ones. Wouldn't do to house you someplace you're not ready for. Surprisingly, an unhappy Castiel sets my teeth on edge.”_

_Castiel was confused, “But, I told you. Angels don't have souls. I don't have a soul.”_

_“As a rule, you'd be correct. But, you've never been one to follow rules, have you?”_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_Crowley growled, “Castiel, Chuck wants you to have whatever you want, whether you want. If you want Heaven, or want to spend millions of years with those overgrown lumberjacks, you can have it! It's up to you.”_

_“But, angels don't get Heaven. My brothers and sisters...the ones I killed...they don't have a choice. Why am I singled out?”_

_Crowley's eyes went wide with shock, then he closed them and sighed, “Naomi really took nearly all of your memories didn't she? Loss of grace causes some blank spots, but, this is...” Crowley opened his eyes and felt pity for the angel. He seemed so lost without it, and seemed to have no idea where his grace was, or why he could be offered Heaven, “Let's start at the beginning,” he said, “You've been a guardian to the Winchesters, and people like them, since before Azazel was tapped to draft Lucifer's little band of misfits. If Azazel needed to prepare Lucifer's vessel, wouldn't Micheal need to have his prepared as well? And, if John was a washout, like Alistair said, what's the next step? What to do? If I were Azazel, and I'm not, I would have played on the only weakness the Winchesters have.”_

_“Family...”Castiel croaked._

_“Family,” Crowley agreed, “And, if two archangel brothers were destined to fight, wouldn't it make sense to prepare the vessels so that they could do that?”_

_“That would make sense,” Castiel agreed._

_“After Papa Winchester, who is next in line in the vessel line-up?”_

_“Dean.”_

_Crowley nodded,“Dean. And you rescued Dean, whose soul, if I remember correctly, was nearly obliterated by Alistair after forty years. I saw him, before you came. There was nothing left of it,” Crowley laughed ruefully, “I thought he'd be an easy target. You really outplayed me, Castiel. I never accounted for you.”_

****************************************

Looking at Castiel's still form, suddenly Claire couldn't breathe. She'd pulled back the tarp a little, just enough to see his face. That was when it hit her. Her friend was gone, an angel was gone, “How did it happen?” Claire asked, fighting the tears from coming through.

“Lucifer,” Dean answered, placing a hand on her shoulder, “and he'll pay for it, Claire. I don't know how yet, or when, but I will get him, Claire. I promise.”

“Good. I'll help. Could you leave us alone, Dean,” Claire's breath stuck in her throat,“just for a minute, please?”

“Claire, I...”

“Please, Dean.”

“Yeah. I'll get everything ready. You come get me when you're ready. Take as long as you need.”

The door clicked shut softly. 

Once she was alone, Claire approached the body on the bed. _My Dad. An angel. My Daddy...is an angel._ She bent over the head of the bed, and was reminded of the countless times her father had tenderly tucked her into bed to sleep at night. Closing her eyes, she kissed the cheek, and said, “Goodbye, Daddy. Take good care of our angel for me.”  
************************** __

_Crowley sighed in frustration, “I can see I'm not getting anywhere. You don't believe me. I don't have a trusting face. Time to bring on the heavy artillery,” with that, Crowley vanished, and was replaced with someone else._

_Sitting next to Castiel, on the park bench on Tuesday afternoon, was Jimmy Novak. “Castiel, we need to talk,” he said._

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't leave it like that. There will be more...


End file.
